“And me.” I smile.

“Speaking of FU-Bar, the bar feels very you.”

“And what exactly do I feel like?” I ask, curious how she sees me. Fucked up beyond all recognition?

“Warm and welcoming but with the edges steeped in your service.” She eyes me with a smile toying at the edges of her mouth.

I purse my lips, liking her assessment. “That’s fair.”

“Is it yours?”

“In a sense.” I nod and think about all the nights the four of us spent beneath a darkened desert sky. We either sat and wished for home or talked endlessly about the bar we were going to open. The pipe dream was our solace as a means to combat the nerves we had while out driving our Humvee through IED country. “We made a pact to open a bar together. Whoever made it back anyway and . . . well, I was one of the lucky ones who did so”—I shrug away the guilt—“I followed through with my promise.”

“One of the lucky ones?” she asks. “I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about the military—or even the veteran—culture, but I have a feeling that those who come home, don’t always feel so lucky. Is it right to assume there’s a lot of guilt there too?”

If only she knew just how accurate that statement is. I’ve never felt lucky just . . . confused.

Why me?

Why was I spared?

But I won’t delve in to that depressing topic right now. Nothing like sucking the life out of a fun date with survivor’s guilt.

“I’m lucky because I get to live in a town where people look out for each other. I work in a place I love. And I have friends who I trust my life with. So lucky, yes.” I sigh, the sound so very contrary to the words I say. But I ignore her question about guilt, hoping she’ll take the hint that this area of my life is currently off limits.

She studies me for a moment, those intelligent eyes noticing what I’m not saying perhaps.

“You’re kind of incredible.” Her smile is sincere, inviting, and the need to kiss her grows. “Can you please tell me you have some horrible habit that makes you not so perfect? It would make me feel a little less inadequate sitting across from you.”

“I drink milk from the carton sometimes. Every once in a while, I don’t rinse my dishes before I put them in the dishwasher,” I confess then take the bill from our server and set it beside me. “Does that help tarnish my image?”